A Fresh Fresh Gale

O My Love’s like a fresh, fresh gale
That leaps from the western sea;
O My Love’s like a happy tale
That tells rare joys to me.

As bright art thou, my lively star,
So deep in love am I:
And I will love thee still, though far,
Till all the sea goes dry.

Till all the sea goes dry, my dear,
And the clouds turn into sand;
And I will love thee still, my dear,
While the boat in calms does stand.

And fare thee well, my only Love,
And fare thee well for now;
But then, I’ll come again, my Love,
To anchor in my vow!

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